


Birthday Cake

by clicktrack_heart



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e08 Fromage, Hannibal has Feelings, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 01:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11002791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clicktrack_heart/pseuds/clicktrack_heart
Summary: Hannibal brings Will cake.





	Birthday Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Weconqueratdawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weconqueratdawn/gifts).



> Sad news has me feeling sad. Decided it was time to finish this porn. Unedited. Hope it doesn't suck. Har har.
> 
> I started writing this for [WeConqueratDawn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/weconqueratdawn/pseuds/weconqueratdawn)'s birthday in March and took stupidly long to finish it. HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY! This is for you and I hope you like. <3

The door opened. Will stood beyond the threshold, shielding his eyes from the last bright rays of the setting sun. 

For Hannibal the second passed in slow motion, infinity spanning to the even pull of his breath. Give. And also take.

The air around Will was diluted from its normal honeyed, fever sweetness. Tainted with antiseptics and of whiskey-- from a day spent at Jack’s lab and also with his prefered bottle of Glenfiddich. Though it was still early enough, Will was dressed for bed. He wore only threadbare boxers and an old gray tee shirt. It was not complete deja vu from the morning Hannibal took Will breakfast in Minnesota, but something near it. 

Will dropped his hand and squinted. He gave Hannibal a small smile. 

Hannibal returned it with his own as several dogs scampered out between Will’s bare legs. They immediately investigated Hannibal, noses in his pockets. 

“Sorry-- haven’t let them out since--” 

Will finally noticed the pearl-white box in Hannibal’s hands. He frowned. 

“Happy birthday, Will,” Hannibal said, lifting the box slightly. “May I come in?”

Will blinked. Soundless, he widened the door for Hannibal to enter. 

With quick flicks of his fingers, Hannibal removed his coat, leaving it on the wobbly coat rack. He looked around. Will’s living room was tidy enough, other than the well-used parts of a boat motor scattered across the worn carpeting. Hannibal didn’t mind. He found it interesting, the focus Will had for fixing long broken things. On his desk were the telltale signs of solitary drinking that Hannibal expected-- a lone glass and half-empty bottle of whiskey. 

“Sorry,” Will said, following his glance. “Wasn’t anticipating company.” 

“Why not?” Hannibal asked. 

“I don’t go around advertising my birthday, okay?” 

“Perhaps you should. You might be interested in knowing how many people would like to wish you felicitations.” 

“Who? Jack? ‘Happy birthday, here’s a body.’” Will snorted. He went to his dresser, producing a pair of sweatpants. He turned his back as the pants were shimmied on. Hannibal didn't avert his gaze. 

“And Alana couldn’t even stand kissing me. It’s not like -- she’s out buying me a card.” 

“Alana felt a pressing obligation to her profession. It doesn’t mean she didn’t enjoy kissing you,” Hannibal reminded him. “These are not mutually exclusive.” 

Will smiled but it failed to crinkle the corners of his eyes. “I'm over it. Funny how near death experiences can bring a new perspective.”

Hannibal’s mouth quirked. 

“You are referring to Tobias Budge.”

Fondly, he remembered the dance of death with Budge, the satisfying crack of his skull, the taste of blood in his own mouth, licked away the moment Will entered his office. 

“Yes,” Will agreed.

“Are you seeing his crimes as though they are your own?”

Will chuckled, dry and humorless. “What I see is myself needing another drink.”

“Perhaps then, this conversation should be continued in your kitchen. Your gift requires cutlery.” 

Will twitched, his gaze drawn uncomfortably to the box in Hannibal’s hands. His cheeks flushed. Gifts were not, apparently, something he was accustomed to. 

“Fine,” Will muttered. “This way.” 

Hannibal followed Will into the kitchen, close enough to notice the errant curl at the nape of his neck, the taunt, broad muscles across his back. As he often did, he imagined Will as Guido Reni’s Saint Sebastian. He could copy it easily, with Will, using deep verdigris of course, for the eyes, and a sallow ochre, for the flesh. The same Roman arrows would pierce Will, not for execution, but for pinning and then display. As rare as the Palos Verdes Blue. 

For Hannibal’s pleasure alone. 

“Can I make you a glass too?” Will asked, as he pulled down two glasses from the cabinet above the sink.

“Please,” Hannibal said, watching as Will poured each glass several fingers width full. “Whiskey pairs rather nicely with chocolate.” 

“You brought me chocolate,” Will said. He took a hasty gulp of his drink. 

Hannibal responded with his own leisurely sip, noting the hints of oak and pear in the liquor, the flavors warm on his tongue. “I brought you dark chocolate ganache cake with a hint of vanilla bean creme.” 

He set his glass down to open the box, displaying the painstaking details of the cake inside. The hand piped swirls and loops had been traced meticulously with a toothpick, leaving delicate ribbons of vanilla and chocolate over the rich cake. He had imagined he was drawing the sea -- mercurial waves that Will could lose himself in. A boat pitched precariously above the waves, in control of the tempest, for now. It seemed fitting.

“Hannibal -- that’s,” Will swallowed. “Really nice.”

“I am pleased that you like it. Do you have a knife?”

Will opened a drawer, rummaging until he came up with a paring knife and a butter knife.

Hannibal, wincing slightly, choose the butter knife. He at least had steady hands. 

They took their replenished glasses and plates into the living room.

Will drank steadily, his glances at Hannibal becoming less and less furtive. It didn’t escape Hannibal’s attention. 

“How do you feel, in this moment?” Hannibal asked. 

“I keep thinking about Budge. Been that way since that night in Baltimore.” He wasn't slurring, not exactly, but there was a looser quality to his speech.

“What do you think about?”

“It’s like -- I’m missing something. I wanted -- I wish I had seen you, when he came to your office.”

“What do you imagine happened?” Hannibal asked. 

A small crease puckered Will’s brow.

“Jack told me you fought him. I was surprised. I don't know why. You’re good at fighting,” Will said. “You must be. You know how to save life. You’d know how to _take_ it too.”

Hannibal traced the now empty edge of his glass. It could be a weapon, if he needed it to be. Still, any shard he fashioned would slice him before he could incapacitate Will. 

Poetic, in a way. 

Yet Will was still thinking aloud, his tone curious and unconcerned. “Did you take… fencing? When you were younger? No… that Japanese suit of armor… Martial arts?” 

“Ninjutsu,” Hannibal said. “A samurai technique used to thoroughly confuse and overtake an opponent.” It was true but not the only form of martial arts he had practiced as a young man. There had been jiu-jitsu and muay-thai as well, before he had left Europe. 

“Did it prepare you to fight Budge? He was skilled. Resourceful. He surprised me in his basement. He tried to strangle me with some sort of homemade weapon.”

“When he came to my office he said he had killed two men,” Hannibal said. 

“Yes. I saw them both. Blood gathering like darkness beneath their twitching limbs. I saw where Tobias made his exquisite strings. Where he made music from human bodies. Could have just as easily been me.”

“It wasn't. Perhaps if I had gone with you instead of the police, we would have been able to disarm Tobias together.” 

Will frowned, looking down at his hands. His fingers twitched. “I wanted to kill him for what he did to you.”

“And I killed him, for what I thought he had done to you," Hannibal said.

Will looked up.

“You…” 

“Yes,” Hannibal said, softly. “I was angry. And it was, I confess, satisfying, to break his arm on my ladder. He was stunned. I could see the bone protruding from his flesh.”

Will’s eyes were bright, unfocused. So easy to nudge him Hannibal’s direction, and no less enjoyable for its simplicity.

“Would seeing me kill Tobias feel as good as killing Garrett Jacob Hobbs?” Hannibal asked. 

Will shuddered. “Yes,” he breathed. “God yes.”

“How do you imagine it?” Hannibal pressed. He wanted to spill open Will’s mind like ripe fruit, gorge on the sweet fever of his thoughts. 

“I imagine… I just see you. I just see you how you really are.” Will covered his face with his hands. “Jesus. I’m not making any sense.” 

“You have been drinking on a mostly empty stomach.”

Will sighed. “I'm not that drunk.” He looked down at his plate. Half of the slice of cake was still there, the frosting still mostly intact. “Since I’ve started working with Jack more my appetite has been touch and go.”

Encephalitis, Hannibal knew, could also diminish one’s appetite.

“Then I won't take it as a reflection of my baking ability.”

“I didn't think anything could beat the last desert you made,” Will offered. “But this does.”

“This dessert was made for you.”

Will was silent. He finished the last of his whiskey before he spoke. The lone ice cube clinked against the glass. 

“Alana told me you made her her own private reserve of beer.”

“A gift for a friend,” Hannibal said.

The side of Will’s mouth turned up. “Just a friend?” he asked. “I think she likes you.”

“And I like her.”

Will tried to smile, it wavered like clutch of his fingers around the glass, condensation sliding against his palm. His eyes fluttered down, then up, lingering on Hannibal.

“The same way you like me?”

Hannibal didn’t blink. “No.”

Will’s reaction was a spasm across his face, half-bewilderment, half pain.

Hannibal was mesmerized.

“You like me,” Will whispered, almost inaudible. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Lying would be difficult, at this moment,” Hannibal said, neutrally.

Will’s gaze darkened.

“Finish your drink,” he said. 

Hannibal obeyed -- slow and deliberate. The liquid burned down to his belly. Will watched his throat as he swallowed, unreadable. 

“There’s a voice in the back of my head telling me I’m imagining this whole conversation.”

“What would make it feel real?”

Will chuckled harshly, curling his hand against his mouth to muffle the sound. For a moment, he appeared lost. A wandering faun with a soft neck and even softer eyes.

“Will?”

Will glanced up at him, blinking. Bewildered. He sagged out of his chair, the length of his legs folding beneath him. He crawled to Hannibal, closing the space between them. Hannibal couldn’t stop himself from touching his head, feeling the heat radiating from his forehead. 

“I want to see what you look like when you're not trying to be something you're not,” Will said, almost defiantly. “I want to suck your cock.”

Hannibal’s fingers snared in Will’s hair. 

“Will…”

“Afraid you’d be taking advantage of me?” Will asked. His tongue trailed pink and wet across his lips. On anyone else it would have been coquettish. On Will, it was nervous -- self deprecating. 

“You know how I feel about you. I am rather positive you’d be taking advantage of me.”

“Let me,” Will said. He rubbed his cheek against Hannibal’s thigh, making a small noise when Hannibal’s grip tightened again in his hair. “Please. Please.”

“Yes.” 

The sound of Hannibal’s voice confused him. It was rough, barely recognizable. 

“Fuck, Hannibal.” 

Will fumbled blindly with Hannibal’s pants. Hannibal helped him, zipping down just enough to free himself. 

His cock was getting hard so rapidly it made him feel like a much younger man. Will leaned in closer, breathing raggedly and Hannibal felt himself leak at the tip, eager to be tasted. The sea-salt smell of preseminal fluid coalesced with the chocolate and whiskey still heavy on Will’s breath. Tantalizingly slow, Will swept his tongue over Hannibal’s cock. Tentative at first, then more firmly. Will’s cheeks were burning as Hannibal’s head nudged against his lips, leaving a sticky trail.

“So good for me,” Hannibal murmured. “Can you take more? Can you open your mouth wide?”

Will nodded, flushed and speechless. He stuck his tongue out for Hannibal to rub up against, thick and heavy. 

Hannibal had assumed Will had limited, or even no experience at all with men. He was very interested in finding out how deep that vein went. 

“Are you hard, Will? Is this what you imagined?”

Will made a soft sound. “Yes.”

Hannibal stroked the back of his skull, feeling the damp curls against the nape of his neck. He left his hand cradled there, as he stretched Will’s mouth open with a single thrust, then another. 

When Will’s eyes fluttered shut, Hannibal gently took hold of his jaw until Will looked up at him again. Eye contact was generally unnecessary with a partner, but he found he was unable to let Will drift away. With the dark slips of Will’s eyes on his face, Hannibal pressed in deeper, to the back of Will’s tongue, the shuddering flex of his throat. 

Will was beautifully willing. It was sloppy and unpracticed but he stroked his tongue against Hannibal’s shaft, participating as much as he could with Hannibal holding his jaw. He choked only slightly when Hannibal shoved forward harder, testing him. He saw Will’s hand snake low across his abdomen, beneath the tented material of his sweat pants. 

Hannibal licked his lips, discovering the rhythm between them. The rougher he was, the more furiously Will moved his hand between his legs. He imagined their positions flipped, Will’s cock bare to him, come spurting on his tongue. 

Will’s eyes were watering but still he took Hannibal’s cock, red lips raw and panting. Hannibal found he didn’t mind the spit, the messiness, the wet sound of Will bringing himself to completion. 

Hannibal tugged Will’s head down and Will moved with him, taking him to the shuddering end of his throat. Gasping, Hannibal came, in long, hot pulses that left him weak. The angle he held Will’s head, however, wasn’t suitable for swallowing, or breathing. Will sputtered, coughing, come dribbling off his lower lip as he pulled away. 

He sat back on his heels at Hannibal’s feet, breathing in short bursts and an almost shell-shocked expression. It would be amusing; to help Will through a sexual crisis should it occur. But Will’s eyes softened on Hannibal’s face. It was impossible to see what Will did. Something about that seemed dangerous -- far more so than when Will had nearly connected him to the Chesapeake Ripper, and far more exposing. 

Will started laughing. At first just a faint chuckle, then a full out throaty sound. He grinned at Hannibal, licking the last traces of chocolate and semen off his lips. 

Hannibal blinked, completely perplexed.

“Sorry, oh God. You just, oh, your pants. Sorry.” 

Hannibal followed Will's gaze down to his lap. His cock was spent but still mostly hard against his thigh. His wool suit pants on the other hand were covered in fur. Dog hair, to be precise, of a variety of colors, lengths and textures. 

Hannibal felt his mouth twitch, the corner ticking up. 

“It’s fine.” Hannibal said. And for that moment, it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Send me stuff at [EmCWrites on Tumblr](http://em-c-writes.tumblr.com/).


End file.
